Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Roberto Baronti Marchiò

Orientals

Where do all these Orientals
end up,
in the stations,
loaded with suitcases, bags
and bloated cardboard boxes.
Tireless
they surface everywhere
in twos or threes,
or alone.

Smiling and impenetrable
they let you go by,
they occupy spaces,
compartments and corridors
then tired on train seats
they throw their heads
back in sleep.
When I awake
they are gone.

In the same way
vanish also
visions, dreams, hopes
that started off cumbersome with us
from central stations
unknown we lose from sight,
they step off soon
in some local station.
And leave us alone
to ask ourselves whether they really existed
or were only a smear
on a sheet of rice paper.

Orientali

Orientali

Dove finiscono tutti
questi orientali
alle stazioni,
carichi di borse, sacchi
e cartoni rigonfi.
Infaticabili,
appaiono ovunque
a due o tre,
oppure soli.

Sorridenti e impenetrabili
ti fanno passare,
occupano spazi,
scomparti e corridoi
poi stanchi sui sedili dei treni
abbandonano all\'indietro
la testa nel sonno.
Quando mi sveglio
sono svaniti.

Allo stesso modo
svaniscono anche
visioni, sogni, speranze
che partiti ingombranti con noi
dalle stazioni centrali
sconosciuti li perdiamo di vista,
scendono presto
in qualche stazione locale.
E ci lasciano soli
a domandarci se davvero sono esistiti
o erano solo una gora
su della carta di riso.
Close

Orientals

Where do all these Orientals
end up,
in the stations,
loaded with suitcases, bags
and bloated cardboard boxes.
Tireless
they surface everywhere
in twos or threes,
or alone.

Smiling and impenetrable
they let you go by,
they occupy spaces,
compartments and corridors
then tired on train seats
they throw their heads
back in sleep.
When I awake
they are gone.

In the same way
vanish also
visions, dreams, hopes
that started off cumbersome with us
from central stations
unknown we lose from sight,
they step off soon
in some local station.
And leave us alone
to ask ourselves whether they really existed
or were only a smear
on a sheet of rice paper.

Orientals

Where do all these Orientals
end up,
in the stations,
loaded with suitcases, bags
and bloated cardboard boxes.
Tireless
they surface everywhere
in twos or threes,
or alone.

Smiling and impenetrable
they let you go by,
they occupy spaces,
compartments and corridors
then tired on train seats
they throw their heads
back in sleep.
When I awake
they are gone.

In the same way
vanish also
visions, dreams, hopes
that started off cumbersome with us
from central stations
unknown we lose from sight,
they step off soon
in some local station.
And leave us alone
to ask ourselves whether they really existed
or were only a smear
on a sheet of rice paper.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère